Please cry for him

Early yesterday morning, at Shishu Bhavan, the boy Caroline wrote about earlier died. I do not know his name, his birthdate, or really what was wrong with him...no one does. He was abandoned there about a month ago, he was taken in clothed and feed, but with so many other special needs children, it must have been hard to realize just how dire his situation was.

He was the first child I picked up when I first arrived at the special needs room upstairs at Shishu Bhavan about three weeks ago. It had been a hard day at Prem Dan, many of the women had needed their heads shaved due to lice, and were very upset about it. As a result I was upset and unsure as to whether I would go to Shishu Bhavan as planned. But, fate intervened, and Caroline and I headed out. I was ready to play with some toddlers and make the day better. We arrived and realized we had been sent to the special needs room. After spending 2.5 hours there we were upset, shocked, and concerned. There were language, cultural, and physical barriers and we were taken aback. When, I was there I met this nameless child. He was in so much obvious pain, he was stiffened in such an odd way, and when I picked him up he became apneic. Realizing this I quickly turned him over, but there was no way to hold him without hearing his extreme difficulty breathing. It was impossible for me to leave him in such a state on the mat on the floor, so I figured out a situation that was a little better. For, the past 2 weeks, I held him every single time I went looking for that perfect place where he could be truly comfortable.

On Saturday afternoon, I finally found it. When I was holding him, his muscles relaxed for the first time since i've seen him, he grabbed onto my fingers, and fell asleep. During this time, his breathing slowed and was not as noisy as before. Three of the Massi's were staring at me, and the sister came over to say that they had never seen him sleep before. I left happy and excited that I had finally been able to give him some relief, even if was only for a short time. Sunday, we went to Sabera Foundation, so I was not there, but I was excited to go back Monday to hold him and let him breath and sleep for awhile again.

Upon arrival Monday, I at first did not see him, but was distracted by one of the girls who so obviously wanted attention, I assumed he was just in one of the cribs as he often is when we get there. But, within a few minutes, one of the other volunteers (there are normally 5 of us there) came over to say that the "boy who couldn't breath died last night". I know from experience that he was not easy to hold, that his struggle to breath was heartbreaking so I know that he was very seldom, if ever, held, touched or loved. I know he is in a better place, away from his constant pain, I know that no one, much less a 2-3 year old baby wants to live like that. But, I can not accept that no one will ever acknowledge his death; that this will be the only testimony in life. I can not accept that there is no one to mourn the loss of an little boy's short and painful life.

A few months ago, one of SMFR's alumni's infant son died. I was asked by our captain to drive the ambulance at the head of the funeral procession, which consisted of over 15 cars. We arrived to find only standing room in the chapel at St. Mike's. People had come from hours away to mourn the loss of this baby that many had never met. This nameless boy could very well have died from a similar disease, yet, where is his funeral procession? He doesn't even have anyone to cry for him.